Grasshopper and Winter
by kidherotobk
Summary: Bucky was suppose to be helping himself get better. Bucky wasn't supposed to be taking in a homeless teenager. Said teenager didn't want to be taken in. Said teenager wanted to be left alone, that and to have a pair of legs. Maybe they can help each other out? OC Lots of cursing.
1. Chapter 1

This is my fanfic idea. I only own the obvious oc. I plan to update weekly, and I have up to Chapter 6 written. Most chapters will be 3 pages. Please and thank you, I appreciate criticism but only if it is helping me perfect my writing skills. I have most of the story line planned, but I am open to ideas to lengthen the story as I enjoy the general idea I have created.

They hated themselves the most. To be simple and just, the kid who lived in the alleyway that came off Randolph St., hated everyone. They had every reason to and at the same time not any either. Maybe, it was life itself they really hated. Afterall, at sixteen they had a terrible hand of cards dealt to them. They were homeless, friendless, and most importantly, legless. Their thighs ended in stubs three inches above where their knees would be.

It's true others have done more with less, but this wasn't where their bad luck finished. This poor sap living on the streets didn't have parents by their side and even worse, they couldn't recall anything from more than two years ago. Their life wasn't all that dandy, but they had a few minor things going for them. Hell, they lived beside one of the nicer garbage cans, stuck in the dirty side of Manhattan. Their abrasive personality combined with their physical oddities, kept the more outgoing thugs from taking the little they had. Plus, they had a kind of natural street smarts in them.

It was an autumn late afternoon, the light filtering into their alley in an angle, that highlighted the dusty air. The atmosphere had a mild chilly bite to it, that made the more sensitive pull on a thin second layer. The hum of human activity was as active as it usually was, never quiet and alive with the darker desires of the people cascaded around. They sat there leaning against the side of a brick apartment building and stared ahead blankly.

To do nothing, was sometimes to survive. The less done that hadn't needed to be done, was more energy to be put into tasks that kept you alive. Chances of finding food for the day had diminished to zero because with the night life, came gangsters with guns searching for the folks that did them 'wrong' and drunks demanding better times. Not the sort they could compete with. Without legs as a way to escape, their hands became their only mode of transportation and their defenses disappeared.

Sitting out on the bench was the easier choice. They'd sit there all night with eyes flickering around in response to every jangle and rustle and their lips pouted. Sleep would come in bouts at a time, before waking up to determine if it was still safe to relax. Tonight felt different for them. They couldn't name how the tension was newly strung, but they knew something was out there.

At the same time, a tall broad shouldered man in a hoodie strolled cautiously along the street. His brunette hair was long for a guy and tickled his stubbled chin. His presence screamed 'do not approach ' and 'barely getting by '.

Most wouldn't give this guy the time of day and he'd return the attention tenfold. If someone would have taken the effort to study his features, they might have noticed he was someone that should've been honored as a veteran. A man who had been tortured to the point of not knowing himself anymore. A particularly World War II knowledgeable person could've identified him as Bucky Barnes; the courageous partner of Captain America.

Bucky had been returning to his one room apartment at a rundown motel, after working a handful of physical labor jobs to pay the bills. His thoughts were on nothing specifically, but his past waited patiently to haunt him in the deepest corners of his mind. He was only a block away from his housing, when he spotted a kid resting in an alley. Bucky paused to give them a good once over.

Greasy, stained clothes hung on the teen's lean, skinny frame. A mop of blonde-ish green hung down like a curtain on the kid's head, shadowing a face that held an expression Bucky could see himself in. Old, grey eyes had deep dark bags underneath them, speaking more than words ever could about the stress the teen carried on his shoulders. The corners of those lips pointed downward in a pout, and while paired with a hunched-in posture, a vision of defensiveness was portrayed.

Bucky crept closer to the teen and observed as the kid peered at him with narrowed eyes. Seconds dragged by before the kid snapped at him, "What the fuck do you want?" Bucky didn't answer, only gazing down at where the kid's should've been. He couldn't help but feel his own metal arm ache in empathy. The winter soldier stepped forward and met the teen's eyes, however, he didn't speak. The kid crossed his arms, starting to glare.

Something deep in Bucky snapped, a piece of him from way back when came to light, and he grabbed the teen, tossing him over his shoulder. The greenish blonde reacted violently, gripping his hands into fists and slamming them into the taller man's back. A wall collapsed in the younger's mind and he began to shout slurs, "Who the fuck do you think you fucking are!?" Bucky grunted in reply and continued marching to his housing. His silence didn't tetter the youth's angry, rather it fueled a raging temper. " Put me the fuck down ya asshole! Hey, bastard! Listen the hell ta me!", they demanded as they viciously swung their hands. How in fucking hell had no one noticed this damn assault?

The struggle never slowed the entire trip to Bucky's apartment. Every groove, corner, and crevice was utilized to the kid's best know-how as they were unwilling toted into a first floor motel unit. The first thing the kid did, when Bucky put them down on a table chair was hoist himself onto his hands as he pummeled his way back towards the door. Bucky was - of course- ready for this and launched himself at the teen. The sound of smacks,slaps, and the occasional headbutt echoed, but not once did Bucky make a move that could be considered offensive.

Finally, the fight ended when Bucky ultimately got a decent grip on the kid with his metal arm. Carefully, the out of breath kid was put back down on the wooden chair and Bucky sighed as he sat down across from him. "What -huff- the fuck- huff- do you want from me?", the youth exhaustedly prodded, too tired to attempt anymore physical endeavors. Bucky noted the beads of sweat dripping down the side of the kid's face, then the elder shrugged, "Nothing."

"Yeah, right." The kid retorted with bleeding sarcasm as their breathing evened out. "No one, not even the fucking dead, want fucking nothing. So," they paused to meet Bucky's eyes. "Why the fuck did ya drag me here, ya bitch?!" Blankly, Bucky remarked with the truth; though it was- admittedly- a truth he didn't understand himself. "I can see myself in you, kid." The unnamed kid gripped the table in outrage, "Who the fuck see's himself in a fucking homeless cripple!?" All while surrounded by pregnant silence, Bucky yanked his hoodie off. Without the garment on, his metal prosthetic was clear for the world to see.

"Because, I'm an amputee too."

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For a majority of an hour,neither individuals move. Instead,they both sat in torturous quietness and stared at each other. Eventually, Bucky reminded himself, that he had to be the adult,since he was an adult.

Besides, he really had forcefully taken this kid home with like a stray cat.

Bucky forced his legs into a stand, an action his 'guest' scrutinized vigilantly, and sighed as held out his hand. Handshakes were something that were done at the beginning of any decent relationship,right? When the teen didn't make any attempt to meet him halfway, Bucky shook his head and muttered, " The name's Bucky.", as he walked the few feet into the kitchen. From what the ex-soldier could tell, the kid needed a good meal. He reached into a cabinet and pulled out a can of pasta and a bowl to put it in, as he did Bucky vocally jabbed at the kid, "You know, if I'm gonna feed you, I'd like a name."

Said teen curled in on himself, why the hell was this bastard making him food? His stomach grumbled and groan, reminding him that you shouldn't stare a gift horse in the mouth. Grudgingly as he hung his head, he gave his name, "Grass." Bucky mentally cocked an eyebrow before rechecking what he heard, "Grass?" Grass flushed and bitterly defended with, "It's my fucking name." By then, the pre-made pasta was spinning inside Bucky's half-usable microwave, allowing Bucky the time to lean against the counter, so he could talk to Grass face to face.

A conservation was hard to stitch together, as Bucky was only used to a few questions before a job and the handful of words he had traded with St-

BEEP BEEP BEEP

Bucky thanked the microwave for going off when it had, anymore thoughts in that direction would've made _him_ go off. He took the bowl out of the microwave, stabbed it with a fork, and then placed in front of Grass. Grass went to town mauling the meal like it was going to ran from him. Bucky snorted and glanced at his feet, Grass probably did think the meal was going to run from him. He knew that frame of thought, he remembered the survival instincts taking over. Hell, he only recovered to the point he had because the Avengers had crashed into the Hydra base he was in and then all of it - all of _everything_ \- came back in a giant wave. The problem was most of himself got pulled back when the wave of information drew back. Четверг день- no, he had to stop…

CLANK

Bucky's eyes jolted open and his attention smashed back to focus on Grass. The bowl served to the greenish blond was empty of food and the kid's gaze locked onto Bucky instead. Seconds drifted into minutes, Bucky almost forced himself to be the bigger person again but surprisingly it was Grass who hammered the next nail into their forming bond. With piercing eyes, Grass asked, "Is the fact I don't have fucking legs the only reason, you see yourself in me?"

The right thing to say came unnaturally easy to Bucky, "No."

"Then what the fuck is it?"

Exhaling, Bucky popped his shoulders up and down, "I don't know."

Grass' expression made it seem like he was going to blow a gasket at the simple response but then Bucky continued with, "I literally don't know. My past… it's… it's missing bits and pieces.I'm an amnesiac." The corner of his eyes crinkled as Grass' face twisted at the words. Was it a fucking coincidence or a damn lie? The teen studied Bucky's face, before deciding the trademark signs from the pain of not knowing were truly there.

A connection was made.

Grass' face grew red as he let himself emphasize with his kidnapper," Yeah, well, I fucking am too." He turned his sharply away from Bucky and pretended to suddenly find a random crack on the wall interesting. Bucky bucked his head in amusement. The two of them had more in common than he had thought, it almost sickened him. The world seemed to like screwing up people to be like him,huh?

Bucky gave Grass another once over. The kid wasn't a cat or a dog he found on the street though. Grass was a human being, someone who would need someone stable to help him out; a person who could help the kid grow into a person who could do things. Bucky wasn't that, he was a brainwashed moron, one who was struggling to even find a reason to get back to normal.

The brunette spared another glance at the greenish blonde. The teen had his arms crossed and was pouting like a giant three year old. God, the kid resembled a younger sibling upset at their older brother or sister. Bucky grumbled at himself inwardly, he was going to regret this, he grabbed the spare blanket off the couch, and threw it at Grass. Grass spazzed when the object hit his head and landed in his lap, releasing a sound that was almost a yelp.

"See ya in the morning kid."

If the kid was there in the morning, he'd deal with him.

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Grass had wanted to leave, damn it. The second that bedroom door had closed,he should've booked it. Except it was dark now, and if he wasn't a target before, he would definitely be one now. He reasoned that he could spend the night on this Bucky guy's couch and then get his ass out of there in the early hours, but that didn't happen. The couch had been lumpy and smelled funny, yet compared to the alley, it was fantastic to sleep on.

He ended up waking up at noon. By then Bucky had gone out to do his odd jobs, but the bastard had left him a plate of scrambled eggs. Grass couldn't deny this token of kindness either. He had that plate cleared easy peazy.

The greenish blonde had been at the damn door and with a scowl thrown over his shoulder, he knew he couldn't leave yet. Hell, I mean he left a fucking mess. He would just clean it up and go. Or that's what he convinced himself as he slinked over on his hands to the sink, so he could wash the dishes he had ate on. Then it was the blanket he had slept with.

Then he felt bad because he remembered how he had pounded on the guy's back the day before, so he decided that he'd clean the floor. Except, the floor was half cheap tile and ripped carpet, and Grass didn't do things half assed. He swept, scrubbed, and picked at the floor until it was spotless. He had finished that all by four, but the dust and dirt on the walls and cabinets began to bother him too. To summarize, Grass greeted Bucky with a 'shut up' as he sat on a table chair while he washed the table.

The next day didn't go any better and Bucky couldn't help the small smile he had.


	2. Chapter 2

I apologize for the lateness. Yesterday my eyes had something wrong with them and I nearly went to the ER. My cousin ended up going instead, after being mauled by a dog and she is only four years old. She is fine now.

Over a week, the two had strung together a routine. Bucky would go on odd jobs for money early in the morning, leaving breakfast for Grass. Grass eventually had enough sleep under his belt and would wake up an hour after Bucky would leave, eat, and then clean.( Not once did Grass drift into Bucky's room and Grass intended to keep it that way, he respected privacy to the point, that it could be said he worshipped it. ) When Bucky did return for the day, he would make dinner and the two would grudgingly trade the day's events.

The only real event was when Bucky left a note telling Grass he could use the shower. The teen had first ignored it, but then Bucky had come home and threw one of his spare black tanktops and a smaller pair of cargo pants at the kid. Grass had thrown a tantrum saying he wasn't a charity case but Bucky retorted that it was his water bill, so he should just take the stupid shower. Grass had relented, took the shower, and somehow the whole thing made him try to do even more around the apartment to pay Bucky back.

They were more or less reluctant roommates. Bucky was ok with that, the kid just being able to stay under his roof was enough to fill that unknown need, that made him drag Grass home in the first place.

However, today was Bucky's unlucky day. For weeks, he had worked himself to the bone and his prosthetic metal arm had paid for it. Yes, Bucky's metal arm was highly advanced, but everything has its limit. So, when he had stumbled into his apartment with his false arm hanging limply by his side, he was instantly approached by Grass. The greenish blonde would often greet the brunette with a slur and then would hop onto his hands to waddle his way to a table chair; except when the teen had seen that expression of pain on his caretaker's, (if that was the right word), he cursed up a worse storm than usual. "What the fuck did you fucking do to your damn arm, bastard!?"

Grass was swift to shake his head angrily, "Ya what? I don't wanna fucking know! Sit the hell down somewhere!" The kid barged through the room and to the cabinet under the sink, shouting "You're fucking lucky I found fucking tool kit!" Bucky's eyes blazed in amusement and interest, did the kid even how complicated prosthetics were?

The cursing half pint dragged himself onto the couch and the spot beside Bucky in seconds. The tool kit they possessed in the apartment was basic and missing a lot, being made up of a handful of various sized screwdrivers and wrenches. Yet, somehow Grass began navigating around the tools like an expert." Take the fucking shirt off," he commanded Bucky while not evening glancing from the kit resting on one of his thighs. Bucky humored the kid, grunting as he one handedly took of his shirt. He doubted the kid could do anything for his prosthetic, but he had learned to let the kid have some power over things.

Grass' eyes analyzed the dirty metal like a machine, he began listing off problems mentally without even realizing it. Too much grime, bolts were loose, and wires were probably snapped under the exterior. Huffing, the teen hopped back onto his hands to retrieve a rag to remove the dirt blocking up the arms tiny joints. Once back on the couch, Grass used his nimble fingers to cleanse the metal plates and managed to displace a pebble, the size of Grass' pinky nail. After that, grass began to tighten a the bolts on Bucky's shoulder, which held his arm on him.

At the same time, Bucky was bewildered by Grass' surprise skills in repairing his arm. He couldn't manage a word until the kid had finished what he could.

Grass dropped the tools back into the kit and crossed his arms, "That's all I can fucking do." He sighed and peered away from Bucky, "If I had the fucking tools or fucking knew something useful, maybe'd I'd have been able to fucking do something." Bucky blinked in confusion, what did Grass mean? Bucky attempted to move his metal and was remarkably able to twitch his prosthetic fingers. Bucky cocked an eyebrow, this kid had to be in denial or something, how many teenagers could make a futuristic high tech arm to almost work again with a few tools?

Before Bucky could stop himself he was already asking, "What would you need?"

Grey eyes rounded in double-take, "W-what are you fucking asking?" Bucky simply clarified with, "To fix my arm." "Why would you fucking trust a dumbass like me with that?", Grass gulped. Bucky almost rolled his eyes, "Because I believe you can fix it." A pregnant pause passed and Grass blushed crimson as he began to rattle off a list of what he would need to fix the prosthetic. Once Bucky had the list committed to memory, he made a point to comment,"You know most people don't know how to fix a prosthetic to the point you did."

"Wait, they fucking don't? Then why the hell do I fucking do!?"

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Bucky was out shopping the next day for the things Grass had mentioned. He had no idea if what he was buying was actually the right thing, but Bucky could remember once using the phrase, 'nothing ventured, nothing gained' as a motto for his life. So, on that ground, Bucky bought what he thought would be needed for fixing his arm. It was on his way home that Bucky found something that caught his eye.

The bookstore next to the carpentry store was having a blow out sale. It was a dingy shop that had been falling apart, but the books in the window were going for a low ball price that was hard to pass up. Grunting, Bucky walked into the store ignoring the hello from the elderly woman at the counter. Bucky studied the titles on the spines of the books. All of the books had extremely obscure names or were on topics that were strangely advanced. 'Fundamentals of Engineering', 'The Stark's Engineering for Geniuses', and ' Richard Reed's Sciences'. Ideally Bucky wondered if Grass would be interested in them. The books were cheap but Grass did appear to be knowledgeable on his prosthetic, maybe he'd like to read on more stuff like that?

Gathering up more than a small stack of books, Bucky took them all up to the cashier. He paid the lady and took off.

When Bucky got to his doorstep, he frustratedly realized he would have to knock. His metal arm wasn't usable enough to hold bags or open the door and his real arm was too busy holding his purchases. Sighing, he kicked the door and listened as he heard Grass yell, "Wait a fucking minute!" It wasn't long before the click of the door sounded and Bucky saw Grass balancing on one hand. "Welcome the fuck back.", Grass whined as he put his raised hand back on the ground. The two settled around the table as Bucky took out the tools he bought, which Grass happily swept up to stash away the tools in the kit.

After that, Grass had began to set things up so he could dissect Bucky's prosthetic enough to repair it. He laid out a towel and grabbed some oil and the tiniest screwdriver they had. Grass prodded underneath the plating of the bionic carefully, scrapping out enough grime out that he could finally get the smallest idea of how the arm worked. "Fucking finally." Grass muttered focusing in on a wire that was coming loose. The greenish blonde snapped off a piece of electrical tape and jammed it around the wire, pushing it back into place. Once he had, Bucky winced as the connection between his nerves and his arm were back in full. Bucky's hand clenched into a fist and Grass cheered, "Fuck yeah!" , in celebration.

Bucky grinned, this time the smile even reached his eyes. This kid was really something. Grass was looking smug, but this time in confidence rather than the usual defensive way. Almost like a proud father, Bucky ran his now working hand through Grass' hair. Grass froze but slowly relaxed. That's when Bucky recalled the books he had picked up. He stood up and grabbed the plastic bag that had been tossed aside by the door.

The bundle caught Grass' attention immediately and the kid tensed up in suspense. Bucky pretended not to notice and sat the back on the table, sliding it over to Grass. Grass stared at the bag for a moment before timidly taking out the contents. The fire in Grass' eyes sprung to life almost instantly as he took in the titles. He met Bucky's eyes questioningly, "Fucking why?" he whispered. Bucky shook his head, "You deserved an award." Grass nodded in shock, this was the first gift he could remember getting from any body.

It was an awkward night after that, but it was fine with both of them. They had both made a big step forward. Bucky was becoming more himself by taking of someone else and Grass was learning he was worth something by having someone take care of him.

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The next day Grass had been glued to his new books. Admittedly, the information was addictive to Grass. Bucky had pointed out to Grass, that he knew more than most people did about repairing prosthetics. Now with the books, Grass could tell he knew more than just about prosthetics. Info was clicking into place in his head and Grass was just grasping how much he really knew. Mechanical engineering, electrical engineering, hydraulics, and so much more.

He pulled on his black tank top while sitting on the bathroom counter and then stared at himself in the mirror. He had taken a shower to organize his thoughts, but it wasn't working. Fuck… Grass grabbed a lock of his hair and frowned. His hair was a lot like Bucky's, not by choice but because he hadn't had anything to cut it with on the street. He bit his lip and glanced back at the mirror. The hairstyle felt wrong, like it wasn't suppose to be on him.

Grass jumped off the counter and pulled out a pair of electric clippers. He tossed it up on the sink and pulled himself back up. He plugged the clippers in as he licked his lips. Warily he put the cutter against the side of his head and watched as the hair fell. Once the right side was only about a centimeter long, he swapped to the left side. He stopped and thought about buzzing the top of his head, but that didn't seem like the thing to do. Nervously, he pushed the clipper to the back of his head.

He gleamed over his reflection, by the end of his haircut, the hair on top of his head had dried and began to curl. The haircut looked edgy but… Grass smirked. He fucking loved it. He was changing, remembering, but he could hope it was for the better.


	3. Chapter 3

Grass stretched his arms above his head, thinking about how briskly a month had passed since he began living with Bucky. True, they hadn't genuinely talked. Bucky and Grass had grown closer, yes, but they hadn't learned much about each other. They didn't each other's favorite things, all their quirks, or what the more obscure traits were the other had. The two just didn't know how social interaction worked.

The greenish blonde peeked out the window by the front door. The day was sunny, which was becoming rarer as the days became shorter and colder. Grass rubbed his arms,imagining how it would feel to be outside while not covered in dirt. He hadn't gone outside since he first arrived at the apartment and for the most part hadn't cared much about it. Yet, Grass couldn't imagine it hurting anyone if he went outside for a minute or two.

The teen closed the book he had been reading and straggled over to the door on his hands. After he got the door open, he moved himself to sit on the doormat. The air was frigid but welcoming to the greyed kid, so much in fact that he couldn't help but smile. He snuck a glance at the sun and closed his eyes for a moment. A breeze tickled his shoulders, ruffling his tank top.

"Well, isn't it legless?", a gruff nasally voice jeered.

Grass' cursed under his breath and snapped open his eyes to see a gritty man with sagging jeans. Grass jumped to his hands, ready to defend himself in an instant, "What do you fucking want Al?" Al narrowed his eyes and bared his teeth, with razor embedded in his words he said, "I want the fucking money you owe me." Grass snorted and turned his face away, "I don't owe you fucking anything bastard."

The thickly built Al barreled forward and held Grass against the apartment door by his throat. Grass' breath caught in his throat, making him cough. The tattooed face elder leaned in closer, so he could whisper in Grass' ear, "You know you fucking owe me money man. You're just fucking lucky you're a legless brat or I'd've came after you already for stealing from the Silenced." With a jolt, Grass was dropped to the floor.

Al backed up, his hood shadowing his eyes. "I'll be back tomorrow now that I know where you are bitch.", he barked.

He stepped back.

Expect, he paused for a second.

Then he rammed his foot as hard as he could into Grass' stomach before taking his leave.

As soon as he was gone,Grass was racing back inside the apartment, clutching at his stomach. "F-fuck.", he tried to get out as he lugged himself into the bathroom. He drew himself up onto the bathroom counter and slammed his fist against the sink, after he saw himself in the mirror. He could already see the red outline of a hand around his neck.

Grass flinched as he slowly got off the sink and back to the floor.

His stomach was searing a bit from the kick.

His grey eyes darted everywhere in attempt to get his focus off the pain. Why the fuck was he hurting so bad? He could usually handle pain a lot better than this… Grass let himself lay on the bathroom floor for a bit, hoping the pain would lessen soon.

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Grass settled himself on the couch almost an hour ago. The pain was gone, but a rigid ache had taken its place. Bruises had probably already set in place, but he didn't dare take a look at them.

The door opened and Bucky grunted to alert his presence. Grass didn't bother answering, keeping his gaze straight ahead. The out of character-ness caught Bucky's attention immediately, having become so used to the younger's cursing involved hello. It was in no way a surprise when Bucky narrowed in on the hand shaped bruise on his friend's neck. Instead of questioning Grass, Bucky instead marched right on into the kitchen to fetch some ice.

Bucky planted himself next to the teen right after and held the ice against the swollen injury. He stared at the side of Grass' face for five entire minutes before asking, "How and who?" Grass remained quiet.

Bucky repeated himself.

Grass curled in on himself as he whispered,"Just some asshole." Bucky removed the ice for a moment, the soldier he used to be stirring as he inquired further, " Why?" Grass sighed and crossed his arms, defending with," It's fucking nothing. Just some bastard from when I was on the damn street. He just got some fucking hits in." Bucky rolled his eyes, "Tell me everything."

"Hell no."

Silence.

Tension.

Then Bucky noted the outline of a dirt footprint on the teen's shirt. Bucky knew Grass wouldn't tell him unless he provoked him more. So, he jabbed Grass in the stomach with his hand. Grass screwed inward as his face pinched together, shouting "Fuck." Bucky cocking an eyebrow, Bucky asked him again, "How?"

Grass threw his hands in the air, "Fine, fucking fine! I'll tell you the damn story!" Bucky nodded and returned the ice back to Grass' neck. Pouting, Grass started with, "It was this ass named Al. He kicked me in the damn stomach, ok?" Bucky frowned and pushed the teen on his back and pulled his shirt up. Bucky clenched his fist in anger and pressed his hand against the purpling bruise carefully. Grass' jerked back in pain.

Bucky stood up and ran his hand through his hair, "Why'd he go after you?"

Grass looked at the floor, frowning. "Grass.",Bucky demanded. With a sigh, Grass finally began to explain, "I stole a few hundred from the ass, ok? I was hungry and it was hard to find food…" Grass peer other at Bucky and then continued," It was right fucking when I got on the street, around the time when clean up from that damn alien invasion happened. No one was throwing any fucking food away, so I had to get some fucking money." With a sudden rush of energy, Grass met Bucky's eyes," I wasn't gonna fucking take something from innocent people, so I stole from a fucking gang member!"

The brunette sighed, leaned forward, and rustled Grass' hair; leaving the ice, that he had been holding in his hand, on Grass' stomach before stepping back. "What gang?" Grass sat up with a start, "What the hell are you thinking!?" Bucky answered back blankly, "Taking care of things." Grass shook his head and knocking the ice off him, "Uh fuck no, you aren't doing fucking anything!" Bucky snorted, "I'm taking care of it."

The greenish blonde growled and threw the ice bag at Bucky while shouting, "Fuck no! I can take of it!" Bucky whipped his head back in Grass' direction, "You're not getting hurt again!" Grass threw a couch cushion this time, screaming, "No, fuck no! I'll deal with the damn bastard!" Bucky turned his back on Grass, causing an out cry of, "Damn it,Bucky! I'll take care of it! Just give me the damn time to!"

CRASH

Bucky's hand smashed through the apartment wall.

They both froze.

Time didn't move an inch and all you could hear was the deep breathing of Bucky calming down. Grass was watching him intensely with a deep frown. Bucky couldn't hear anything but his own heart beat. His real hand was becoming sweaty and he couldn't stop himself from biting down on his tounge. Grass was heaving quietly from his yelling.

Bucky was having a flashback.

He was stuck back in the 20's, was saving Steve from the local bullies, and dancing with dames in bars. Bucky was James Barnes again, signing up for the army, and falling off the train. Then he wasn't, he wasn't anyone.

Grass hopped off the couch and onto his hands. He wobbled over to Bucky and spoke to him, "Bucky?" he whispered. No reponse. Grass crept closer and reached for Bucky's arm. The greenish blonde pulled on his hoodie sleeve, bringing Bucky back to himself. The brunette jerked his arm away. It was with glassy eyes that Bucky murmured, "I'll let you handle it." Then he was gone, Bucky retreated back to his room.

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It was two days since Bucky had withdrawn into himself and Grass didn't know what to do. Bucky ghosted through the day and was quiet as a mouse, avoiding Grass as much as possible. Grass didn't know what to do, his social skills were awful and his already crude personality didn't help. In the end, Grass settled that if he wanted to fix whatever he did wrong, that he would have to finish things with those assholes, the Silenced.

The next thing Grass decided on, was that he would go to Al directly. He knew where Al hung out,so he had a location. Plus, Grass had the free time while Bucky was gone to confront Al. That just left what he would do when he went to Al. Grass had been cut off guard last time though… Usually the greenish blonde could handle himself pretty well, or rather well enough to keep himself from getting too beat up until he could high tail it. It's just that Grass didn't have any offense.

Something from one of his books popped up in Grass' head.

The teen smirked and grabbed all his books, spreading them out on the table. He grabbed a nearby paper towel and pen, getting to work. Grass could make his own offense and thanks to a mention in one of his books, he had a great idea where to start.


End file.
